


It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder

by MortuaryBee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, M/M, OT3, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9046895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortuaryBee/pseuds/MortuaryBee
Summary: All he wants for Christmas is a case.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock bursts into John’s kitchen with a flare of excitement. “Christmas,” he exclaims. 

“Not quite yet.” John continues to read the morning newspaper unperturbed. “Didn’t know we gave you a key.” 

“You didn’t need to.” He doesn’t look up as Sherlock continues. “Standard locks.” 

John rolls his eyes, turns the page, and resolutely ignores the man bouncing on his heels behind him. He can feel Sherlock’s manic energy drilling into the back of his head, and wonders how long Sherlock can stand not being acknowledged. He gives it ten seconds.

“Christmas case,” Sherlock reiterates as he throws a thick file on top of John’s newspaper. It rips under the weight. That was barely five seconds, it must be interesting. John sighs halfheartedly and rubs the bridge of his nose, mostly for show. “I was reading that.”

Sherlock reaches over John’s shoulder and opens the file. “Yes, and now you’re reading this.”

John blinks the last haze of sleep from his eyes as he begins to process what’s in front of him. The first few images are of a standard middle-class home. Two coats hang on the rack by the door and three stockings above the hearth. The middle stocking is noticeably smaller than the others, but contains considerably more gifts. 

John’s brow furrows at this detail. “The infant?”

Sherlock’s mouth scrunches in confusion. “What about it?”

John takes a slow breath to reign in his anger and clarifies. “Is it alive?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and leans against the counter behind him. “Yes, yes. It’s perfectly fine.”

John lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He shifts through to pictures detailing the victims. 

Three homicides. A stay at home mom and her husband--a primary school teacher. The third is a local teenager that lived up the street from the home. Her body is sprawled across the living room floor as if tossed aside. The couple is dressed in matching green and red striped footie pajamas. They’re laid carefully across faded paper under their fully decorated tree. 

“Is that...” John holds the picture closer. “Wrapping paper?”  
Sherlock’s hand falls on John’s shoulder. “Festive, and informative! The paper is almost forty years old, as evidenced by the lackluster colors. The print was discontinued nine years ago, and it's been kept in surprisingly good condition since it was purchased.” 

“Jesus,” sighs John. “There’s nearly--”

“Three cases to date,” Sherlock cuts John off in rapid explanation. “Nine victims sporadically murdered throughout the month. Steep learning curve, but his confidence will be his undoing. He’s getting sloppy.”

John nods in acknowledgement. “Stab wounds for the mum.” 

The stab wounds are carefully placed in the victim. The image of the woman showcases seven total, four of which are in her back. The man bares bruises in accordance with strangulation, but the cause of death is a severed jugular. The wound on the husband is clean and covered neatly with a handmade tie adorned with gold tinsel and colored lights. John frowns at the presentation. 

“If strangulation was ineffective for the dad, why keep trying just to slit his neck?”

“The theatrics suggest a significant psychological component.” Sherlock removes his hand from John’s shoulder and begins pacing along the length of John’s kitchen. “The proximity to and obsession over the holiday suggests some deep rooted Christmas trauma. The repeated murder of the parents conveys their death is the root of his preoccupation.” Sherlock stops mid-stride, steeples his fingers under his chin, and takes a breath. “Given his need to destroy entire families there’s likely domestic violence in his past. All of the victim’s children were also abused, so the addition of wrapping his “presents” and placing them under the tree is compensation for his own broken family.”

“So what…” John hums in consideration. “He’s giving them what he couldn’t give himself?”

“Indeed!” Sherlock smiles at John’s back. “The tie may be a replica of one he made his own deceased father. The first attempt was a botch job. Parents weren’t wrapped when the babysitter arrived and she became an unfortunate mishap.” Sherlock slides the second scene into John’s view. 

The next house is similar to the first. Two coats on hooks mounted near the door, and four lower with two small coats and dark blue blazers with school emblems on the side. There are four stockings stuffed with presents on the mantel piece under a professionally photographed family portrait. The husband and wife stand smiling with a hand on each of their children.  
A fire burns in the hearth. Among the presents beneath the tree lay the wrapped bodies of their parents. Two children, dressed in blue and pink pajamas, sit lifeless and posed with forged smiles upon their faces.

“The second, although now complete, felt too staged.” John clears his throat at the sight, blinks, and shifts in his seat, but Sherlock continues, oblivious. “So, he started keeping the children alive and here we are.”

John ponders the available evidence. “You said three cases? There’s only two here.”

Sherlock stuffs the victim bios haphazardly into the file and gestures for John to follow. “Third’s still being catalogued. We can catch it if we hurry.”

Sherlock takes a scarf off the coat rack and wraps it around John’s neck. John replaces Mary’s scarf with his. “Would’ve thought you picked this up a while ago.” 

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the distinction and hands John his coat. “The first two weren’t discovered until last night and the third came in early this morning. The most recent victims are survived by two small children, both of whom are too traumatized to be of any substantial use.”

“I bet.,” John says as he pulls on his hat. “So much for breakfast.” 

He glances sadly at his full plate before he heads out the door. Sherlock is already hailing a cab when he joins him on the pavement.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock jumps out of the cab before it’s entirely come to a stop. John throws slightly more than what the meter shows at the driver and rushes out to follow.

Sherlock pushes police tape out of his way with a flourish. John is somewhat out of breath. Sherlock steps into the crime scene. Sherlock surveys the living room as John leans in the doorway. 

Under a white artificial tree decorated in red and gold lay the bodies of the killer’s most recent victims. The children, however, are nowhere to be found. The couple’s cause of death is identical to the first two scenes. Their wrappings are ripped along the edges and red and green striped flannel shows through the gaps. Bloody right sided footprints stain the hardwood next to the corpses. The inside length of the prints smear along the grain. Small scratches scrape the floor opposite each footfall. 

Two stockings are on the mantel under a professionally photographed family portrait. Printed on glossy paper, the husband and wife wear color coordinated outfits while their children wear dark blue school blazers with gold emblems on the chest. The children look three or four years older then their counterparts from the last case. The parents stand smiling with a hand on each of their children. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes. The hearth below them is cold.

In the next room, past walls lined with bow-strung holly and white lights, the back door is cracked. Flurries of snow that falls through reach nearly to the kitchen table. Four chairs sit around a floral centerpiece lined with candles. A stark white tablecloth shows through a layer of red lace.

Sherlock obscurs John’s view as he speeds past him and towards the front door. John leaves immediately after him.

“So,” John glances back at the scene, then forward to Sherlock. “We aren’t going to investigate the third one, then?”

Sherlock turns to face John and blinks at his assumption. “We already have.”

John’s expressions falls and he shakes his head. “No, we glanced in for about two minutes before you ran off.”

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes. “Have you learned nothing?” Sherlock pulls him along by the edge of his sleeve. “What did you observe?”

John tries to remember the most prominent details. “Bloody footprint. So you were right about him being cocky.” His brow furrows as he rushes to keep pace with Sherlock. “The paper was ripped and the door was cracked so...rushed job?”

Sherlock nods and gestures for him to continue. “What else?”

“He had a limp?”

Sherlock’s lips curl into a smirk. “How do you know?”

“Half the print was smudged.” John stands straighter from Sherlock’s evaluating gaze. “I thought it’s from a struggle, but since it faces away from the parents it must be from after the murder.” He pauses before he extrapolates. “It smudged when he shifted his weight?”

“Not just a limp.” Sherlock looks away and drops John’s shirt sleeve. “The “smudge” as you so eloquently put it was on the inside length of his foot which means his weight was mostly taken by a support of some kind. That coupled with scratches along the floor indicate regular use of a cane. ” Sherlock stops abruptly and John smacks into him. “Now, you’re missing one final detail.”

“Which is?” John asks as Sherlock hails another cab.

“The mantel.” Sherlock explains as he settles into his seat. “You’ve forgotten the mantel.” Sherlock barks an address at the cabbie before he gives John his full attention.

“The family portrait?”

“Yes.” Sherlock taps his heel against the floor and waves a hand for John to elaborate. “What was in the portrait?”

John’s face scrunches in concentration. “The...family?”

Sherlock sighs forlornly and his head hits the window. “You showed so much promise this time.” John purses his lips and ignores the pang of hurt pride as Sherlock continues. “The boy was wearing a blazer with the same emblem as the blazer hung by the door in the second house.”

“How do you know that wasn’t just a coincidence?” John glares across the seat. “What about the first case?”

Sherlocks hand falls with a thump in between them. “The father worked at that very same primary school.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fluorescent lights flicker above cracked tile floors as Sherlock shows a forged police badge to security. The ceiling panels are warped from age and mildew. Some are missing. The walls are water logged and the hall is scattered with students lingering outside their classes. John narrows his eyes at a particularly loud group before he shifts to follow Sherlock up four flights of stairs.

“So, teacher you think?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “The slight range in age indicates the children were in different classes.” He stops just outside of a door marked Guidance. in large black letters. “They all had clear signs of physical and psychological abuse. It’s more likely a counselor,” Sherlock adds as he rips the door open.

A woman’s voice drifts into the hall before John has a chance to peer into the office. “Oh, hello. Can I help,” Sherlock pulls the door shut hard.

“-or not.” He continues ahead. “Which only leaves?”

“Nurse?”

“There’s a shortage. This school doesn’t possess the funds to employ one.”

John nods. “Well if they were abused they’d be acting out. If it’s not the counselor and there’s no nurse then that leaves...” He scratches the nape of his neck and squints in front of him. “Principal?”

“Precisely!” Sherlock extends his lockpicks towards John as they come to a stop outside the office. “Would you care to do the honors?” 

John forces the door open with two sturdy kicks.

“Police!” John shrugs as he pulls out his gun. “Sort of.” The barrel points at a short stumpy man trying to crawl out the large window behind his desk. “Get down. That’s right, nice and easy.”

Sherlock frowns as he handcuffs the suspect. “You needed practice.”

“And if I had he’d need an ambulance.” John helps Sherlock pull the suspect to his feet and force him forward. When Sherlock’s shoulders droop he sighs. “Alright fine. I’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

Sherlock answers with finality. “Seventy-five as soon as we’re finished.”

John laughs. “Fifteen. If you’re lucky.”

Sherlock levels him with a glare when he texts Lestrade their location. “Fifty.”

They stop to wait for patrol cars and John narrows his gaze. “Twenty-five.”

They had over the suspect and Sherlock hails a cab shortly after. “Forty-five.”

John throws his hands in the air as the car pulls to a stop next to them. “Thirty with a blindfold, and we’ll call it a Christmas present.”

Sherlock holds the door for John and smiles. “Deal. Most useful thing you’ve given me to date.”


	4. Chapter 4

“That’s it John! Just five more; you’re nearly there.” Sherlock tears the lock and picks from John’s hands. Sherlock pulls his arms behind the dining chair he’s currently sitting in.

Heavy police handcuffs lock in place before John can voice his confusion. “Seems excessive,” he complains.

A smirk is apparent in Sherlock’s answer. “Consider it a bonus round.”

“Happy fucking Christmas to me,” John grumbles as he jams the picks into the padlock once more.

“I wanted him back in one piece, but I didn't expect you to wrap him up for me.”

“Mary! I, uh. It’s-

“My Christmas present!” Sherlock adds proudly.

“The handcuffs weren’t part of the original deal.” John assures.

Her smirk is almost as loud as Sherlock’s. “Sure they weren’t.”

John sweats from the additional audience. He sighs in relief as the cylinder turns and the lock clicks open for the last time. “Alright, that’s five. Hand over the key.” The padlock and picks are taken but quickly replaced with a single bobby pin.

“They don’t call it a bonus round for nothing.” John lets his head hit the back of his chair.

He calls for reinforcements. “Mary?”

She shrugs. “Don’t ask me, hun. It’s not my present.”

John’s brow furrows as he takes a breath to calm his nerves. His concentration improves and after a few moments he hears a faint click behind him. “Ha!” John exclaims as he frees himself from the cuffs.

“Adequate!” Sherlock leans down for a chaste kiss. “Needs work, but still an improvement considering your lack of mobility.” A light pink flushes John’s cheeks. 

“Oi, that’s my job.” Mary says in jest. She kisses him soon after. “Happy Christmas, love.”

“Happy Christmas, Mary.”


End file.
